they bore him barefaced on the bier
by archivisms
Summary: Wally's last hours. (Justice Lords)


"Up." Wally stood gingerly, shifting his weight to his non-injured leg. Once he was fully standing, he felt a gun pressed to the small of his back. "The president wants you." They lead him down a maze of hallways and out of the compound, loading him into the back of a van. All the while, he wracked his brain as to why Luthor would call for him now, after days of keeping him collared and chained in a dark cell deep in the heart of some governmental compound or another. No matter how much he tried to get any information out of the guards, all he got was stony silence.

He knew better now than to try and get a reaction from them, knew better than to try and annoy them from their silence.

Wally really didn't want to get tazed again.

The truck rolled to a stop, and Wally tensed as one of the soldiers– seemingly the one in charge– spoke into a walkie-talkie, giving a confirmation code to whoever was on the other line.

A beat, and the truck began to move again, traveling down a small incline– probably a tunnel of some kind. It was a few minutes before they stopped again, roughly hauling Wally to his feet by his cuffs. His wrists chafed, had been chafing for days, and the rough motion only made them throb more. Besides that, Wally was hungry. The food were he'd been held had been… subpar, to say the least.

The back of the van opened, and Wally was lead out, still limping as they pressed the muzzle of a gun into his back to urge him forward. "Move."

"Okay, okay!" Wally laughed awkwardly. His voice was scratchy, but he gave them a small grin. "Pushy." They glared at him, and he winced.

They walked in silence to an elevator. Once they got in, Wally started humming. Look. He was stressed, and it made him feel better. Also, it was kinda funny, up until they pressed the muzzle into his back just a little harder.

The elevator stopped, and Wally was lead down more hallways, up a flight of stairs. The first thing Wally noticed as he stepped through the door was the cameras. He flinched back, instinctively, despite the fact that they'd left his mask on. Wally hated being weak in front of the cameras. He was a symbol of hope for the people of the Gem Cities, and being seen like this countermanded that.

The second thing he noticed was the man behind the desk, and where exactly he was.

They weren't joking when they told him that the president had asked for him.

Wally was in the fucking Oval Office, collared like an animal and cuffed like a criminal.

Thankfully, the cameras didn't seem to be recording yet, so whatever Luthor was going to do to him wasn't going to happen just yet, but whatever it was, it was going to happen soon.

"Come here," purred Luthor, gesturing towards him. Again, Wally was shoved forwards with the gun, and he limped forwards, hissing quietly every time he put weight on that leg. There was a small, but undeniably smug look on Luthor's face as Wally approached, and it made him want to spit in the guy's face. What an asshole.

"I'd really like to speak to your manager. Or at least leave a one-star review on Yelp," he said, grinning cheerfully. "The service was poor, the atmosphere was bad, your cleanliness needs some work, and the food? I'd rather die than think about it." Wally stuck out his tongue and scrunched up his nose, screwing his eyes shut in a pantomime of disgust.

"You may get your wish much sooner than you think," murmured Luthor, and Wally stumbled back in horror. He could barely understand what the man had just said. Luthor stood, unconcerned and seemingly unnoticing of Wally's distress as he gestured to the camera operator to begin rolling. "On your knees."

"You heard the man," said one of the soldiers as the two on either side of him roughly pushed him to his knees. Wally barely protested, going limp in their arms as he stared, horrified at the man who was the President of the United States. Luthor was speaking, adressing the cameras with a cool, collected expression.

"–These heroes are a danger, undermining the power of the government. As I'm sure you can see, we have one such hero here with us today." Luthor gestured towards him, and Wally set his face in a hard line. He wouldn't give the man the pleasure of seeing his fear. "Who is the Flash to decide who of us are criminals? How can we trust a man whose identity we do not know? As your president, I will unmask him." Once more, Wally's eyes widened in shock and horror, flinching back as the man reached for his mask, but the soldiers held him in place.

It was unceremonious, irreverent, the way that Luthor simply and quickly pulled it back over his head, letting his hair tumble free over his face in one quick motion. Wally pressed his face into his shoulder as soon as Luthor let go, trying desperately both to hide his face and the tears welling in his eyes, but Luthor grabbed his chin, turning his face towards him forcefully.

"Such pretty green eyes," the man murmured. "Such a shame that Wally West, a promising young forensic scientist from Keystone City decided to turn to vigilantism to get his kicks." Wally shuddered, his breath hitching quietly as we tried to keep calm. Luthor dropped his chin, and Wally sagged in relief, clusing his eyes as Luthor turned to address the cameras.

"From now on, the punishment for vigilante activity is death." Oh god, Luthor had a shotgun. Why did he have a shotgun.

Wally felt the cold metal of the barrel against his forehead, and the tears he'd managed to hold back spilled down his face.

He didn't want to die.

ha ha hey remember the justice lords bc i do


End file.
